


Rounding Home

by WelpThisIsHappening



Series: You Play Ball Like a Girl [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: Emma Swan is happy. Really. Absurdly. Incandescently.Even when she's surrounded by the picture-perfect wedding of her two best friends. Well, re-wedding. David and Mary Margaret have been married for nearly six months. No one in Storybrooke got that message. It didn't matter. She was still happy. And, well, it might have been half because of the boyfriend she'd brought back to Storybrooke with her.He was her boyfriend this time.Or - Emma and Killian return to Storybrooke for the "re-wedding of the century" and it's not quite as dramatic this time. A not-quite You Play Ball Like a Girl sequel.





	Rounding Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distant_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/gifts).



“Have you seen this?”

Emma’s head snapped up quickly and she widened her eyes at the voice – and the highlights – behind her. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Ruby pushed a handful of papers into her hands and Emma did her best to make sure none of them fell on the ground. She sank onto one of the chairs nearby – pushed out of the way when she started changing the latest tablecloth.

They were making good time.

The hall was almost entirely blue.

And they were all _incredibly_ buzzed.

Regina made good on her promise to swipe some _Storybrooke Scotches_ and Emma might have made Ruby grab a few bottles of rum from behind The Rabbit Hole bar as well. Although she wouldn’t ever admit to that.

It just felt a bit like a rum kind of night.

And now her head was spinning.

“What exactly am I looking at here, Ruby?” Emma asked, pulling apart the pages in her hands. It was a newspaper.

It was _The Storybrooke Mirror._

And it had Mary Margaret’s face on the front page.

“What the fuck,” Emma mumbled, flattening out the cover over her knee. Ruby made a significant face and pulled another chair towards her, the sound scratching against Emma’s very-buzzed ears.

“Right?” Ruby asked, widening her eyes and glancing meaningfully at the single sheet of paper. “Her royal highness, Mary Margaret set to wed long-time suitor in extravagant ceremony as family and friends look on.”

“Is this today’s?”

“Yup.”

“M’s seen it?”  
  
“I’m not an idiot.”

“You just carry _Mirrors_ around with you regularly, Ruby?” Emma asked, eyes skimming over the ink and paper in her hands.

“How else would you get updated on the goings-ons of our lovely town?”

Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes, folding _The Mirror_ along the fold and stared at it intently. The headline was as ridiculous as she expected.

 **_Storybrooke’s first family set to host daughter’s wedding this weekend_ ** **.**

If it wasn’t all so absurd, Emma would have laughed. She would have showed Mary Margaret and they, probably, would have laughed together. But they were, despite making pretty good time, still only about halfway done with the tablecloth issues and they still had to string the lights in the awning _thing_ that Marco made.

And, quite suddenly, Emma was overwhelmed.

And spinning.

At least her head was spinning.

“You look like you could use another drink,” Ruby said, pulling the paper out of Emma’s hand slowly and tossing it on the table next to them.

“That’s probably the last thing I need right now.”

Ruby stared at her for a few moments, eyes narrowing like she was reading Emma. Killian’s voice echoed in her head – open book.

“You remember when Mary Margaret and David first started dating?” Ruby asked.

“I don’t know if I was here yet,” Emma answered honestly. “I wasn’t here when they were growing up.”  
  
“That’s exactly what I mean.”  
  
Emma blinked  – several times – and she smiled genuinely at Ruby. “You’re smart,” Emma muttered, leaning against the chair and glancing around the hall. The room was jam-packed with people – Elsa and Ingrid and Regina and Marco and Graham and, _God,_  Killian – all there to make sure that the plan Emma had come up with – to make sure Mary Margaret and David got some sort of picture-perfect wedding – actually happened.

She bit her lip and looked quickly back at Ruby who appeared particularly pleased with herself, tugging her hair over her shoulder and crossing her legs.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Ruby said pointedly, shaking her shoulders slightly as she spoke.

Emma shook her head. Operation: happily ever after was going to be fine.

Because Mary Margaret and David would be fine – always.

“It all makes sense, Emma,” Ruby continued. “She loves him, he loves her. They both love you an absolutely ridiculous amount. The three musketeers drove back into Storybrooke this weekend and they’re going to school us all in friendship and romance and it’s going to be disgustingly sweet.”  
  
“Disgustingly?”  
  
“Absolutely. Mary Margaret and David have always been disgustingly sweet, but you’re well on your way there.”

“What?”

Emma sat up a bit straighter and Ruby stared at her, a smile practically dancing its way across her face. She tilted her head and grinned before staring over Emma’s shoulder and nodding towards the other side of the hall.

“You’re kidding me right?” Ruby laughed.

“Of course not.”  
  
“Emma, give me a break. Turn around and look at what is happening at that table over there.”

She did as instructed, twisting her body in the chair and glancing at the scene in front of her. Killian Jones was stringing lights in some type of decorative blue awning, balancing on a wobbly chair and looking down every few moments to grab another row of decorations from Marco standing next to him.

Emma’s heart thudded and she chewed on the inside of her lip, fighting off the urge to smile like a _complete_ idiot.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma mumbled, turning back around and meeting Ruby’s disbelieving gaze.

“Sure you don’t.”  
  
“Honestly.”  
  
“You’re a terrible liar.”  
  
“We’re not Mary Margaret and David levels of disgustingly sweet yet.”  
  
“No,” Ruby agreed. “Not yet. But you are so far gone from that ridiculous person who thought he was flirting with _me_ at the last wedding we did here.”  
  
Emma was certain her whole body flushed and she stared at her feet, crossing and uncrossing her ankles several times before she finally managed to actually look at Ruby. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “I should have opened with that. I know, well I know now, that I was being ridiculous. So I’m sorry.”  
  
“You know he was absurdly in love with you even then.”  
  
There was absolutely no way for Emma’s face to get even more red – she knew it was a scientific impossibility, but she also wasn’t entirely convinced she didn’t flush more at that single sentence.

“You’re blushing,” Ruby laughed. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”

Emma rolled her eyes and shot Ruby a glare, but Mary Margaret walked up to them before she could respond with some sort of biting retort. She had a drink in her hand – Emma had lost count of the number of _Storybrooke Scotches_ Mary Margaret had at this point – and wobbled slightly when she leaned against one of the chairs.

She looked like she was standing on the ice that they absolutely needed to do something about on the sidewalk outside.

“You alright there, M’s?” Emma asked, doing her best not to laugh. Ruby didn’t even try to mask her own chuckle, even adding a head shake in for good measure.

“Fine, fine,” Mary Margaret promised quickly, brushing Emma off and looking expectantly at Ruby. “You tell her yet?”

Ruby shook her head. “No,” she said. “I figured you’d want to tell her, it was your idea.”  
  
“It’s your room.”  
  
“It’s Granny’s room.”  
  
“What is going on?” Emma interrupted quickly. Her eyes darted between Ruby and Mary Margaret, widening slightly.

“We got you a room,” Mary Margaret said simply. That didn’t do much to help clear up Emma’s confusion. Ruby took pity on her – Mary Margaret just looked pleased with herself – and smiled encouragingly at Emma.

“Literally what Mary Margaret just said,” Ruby explained. “We got you a room. At Granny’s.”  
  
In addition to regularly feeding the entire population of Storybrooke, Granny Lucas also owned and operated a bed and breakfast behind the diner. It was, usually, jam-packed with tourists, but it was, currently, December 22nd and no one had seen in a tourist in at least a month. Granny’s was empty.

Emma’s eyes widened even more as she realized what Ruby and Mary Margaret had done. Granny’s was empty – except for the room that she and Killian, apparently, had to themselves that night.

“What did you guys do?” Emma muttered slowly, trying to process the last few seconds of her life.

“And here I was thinking I was slow on the uptake because I’m a bit over-buzzed,” Mary Margaret laughed. “You really don’t understand or you just trying to ignore the possibilities of what’s happening here?”  
  
“Be nice,” Emma mumbled, nudging her shoulder against Mary Margaret’s side. She nearly fell over. “And drink some water.”  
  
“David and Killian have been all over my water consumption, I promise. I’m just horrible at holding my alcohol.”  
  
“That is true,” Ruby laughed. She shook her head, making a face at Mary Margaret before glancing back at Emma. “You’re ignoring the possibilities of what’s happening here, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” Emma admitted.

“I’m going to say something,” Ruby warned, holding her hands up and visibly doing her best to look innocent.

“Yuh huh.”

“I wasn’t lying before. He was ridiculously in love with you the last time you were here. He talked about you like...I don’t even know. Like you were the center of everything, Emma. And now you’re bordering on David and Mary Margaret levels of disgustingly adorable…”  
  
“Hey,” Mary Margaret interrupted, but Ruby brushed her off.

“You’re not quite there, but almost and, honestly, that’s not something you would have ever allowed yourself to have – even last year, you were so scared of it you tried to pretend like he was flirting with me.”  
  
“So you got us a room?” Emma asked slowly. “I have a room at Ingrid’s.”  
  
“Where he won’t make out with you,” Mary Margaret pointed out. Emma groaned. “Well he won’t,” she continued. “He’s trying to make some sort of good impression or something. First official visit home as real-boyfriend and all that.”  
  
“Killian came to Christmas last year,” Emma said.

Mary Margaret just shook her head. “That doesn’t count. He came because Elsa told him to drive here and make sure you didn’t spend the entire week wallowing.”

Emma sighed again and slid down the back of the chair, legs stretching out dramatically in front of her. Somewhere along the line – without even realizing it – everyone started to be able to read her perfectly.

And they all found their way into every nook and cranny of her life.

And they wanted to make her happy.

They wanted her to make out with her boyfriend.

“You two have been through a lot the last couple of months,” Mary Margaret said, suddenly sounding much more sober. “Long-distance relationships and new jobs and trying to balance life on either side of the New York City newspaper war. You deserve one night away from all of that. So that’s what we’re giving you.”  
  
“There are wars?” Ruby asked, curiosity clouding her voice.

“It’s a long story,” Emma said quickly. “I can’t believe you did all of this. This weekend is supposed to be about you, M’s.”  
  
“I don’t see how you spending the night in a hotel room with Killian changes any of that. Just don’t be late to my dad’s house tomorrow and we’ll be fine.”  
  
Emma sighed and shook her head slowly, overwhelmed with friends and happily ever afters and second-try weddings and, quite possibly, rum.

“Ingrid know?” she muttered, turning her head up to stare at Mary Margaret.

“She’s the one who suggested Granny’s.”  
  
“Of course she did.”  
  
“Elsa made sure to point out it was one of the few Storybrooke landmarks you and Killian hadn’t made out at yet,” Ruby added, laughing loudly as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “Which sparks a whole slew of questions for you.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma mumbled.  
  
“He’s incredibly good looking. I’m surprised you’re not somewhere making out right now, honestly.”  
  
“We can control ourselves, you know,” Emma said, defenses rising immediately. “We worked together at _The Record_ for months and nothing ever happened.”  
  
Except that one time they absolutely made out in the studio and the block outside the building – several times. But neither Ruby nor Mary Margaret needed to know that.

“Sure,” Ruby said, sounding unconvinced. Mary Margaret was beaming at her.

Emma sighed dramatically and shook her head. “You need to relieve some tension, Emma,” Mary Margaret said without any trace of sarcasm. “Just go straight to the room when we’re done.”  
  
“Jeez, M’s. Who are you and what have your _Storybrooke Scotche_ s done to you?”  
  
“Operation: happily ever after doesn’t isn’t just limited to me,” she argued. “You want your happy ending too, Ruby? We can work on that. And the _Storybrooke Scotches_ have just made _me_ more relaxed.”  
  
“If we just go to the room, everyone is going to know that I didn’t go back to Ingrid’s tonight,” Emma argued.

“Yeah.”  
  
“And I’d like to avoid that.”  
  
“I’m fairly positive everyone knows that Killian is also staying at Ingrid’s,” Ruby cut in. “It’s not like this is 1725. They probably realize he’s sleeping in your room. Wait, he was sleeping in your room right?”  
  
“Yes,” Emma nodded. She didn’t add that Killian sleeping in her _bed_ took a bit of convincing the night before. It was only after she reminded him that they’d done just about everything they possibly could do in this bed already and there was no need to stand on ceremony or some misplaced sense of propriety.

He got into bed after that.

“Good,” Mary Margaret said forcefully. “But now you guys can be by yourselves and have some time to just...whatever.”  
  
“Whatever?” Emma laughed. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and took her hand off the back of Emma’s chair – standing on her own for the first time since she’d walked over to the table. “Whatever,” she repeated.

Ruby reached down suddenly and grabbed her bag off the floor, rummaging inside for a few moments before presenting Emma with a key – an actual key – and smiling at her. “Here,” she said, pushing the item into Emma’s outstretched hand.

“Granny still uses actual keys?” Emma asked skeptically. “Maybe it is the 18th century.”  
  
“It’s charming,” Ruby argued. “And changing all the locks is ridiculously expensive.”

“Naturally.”

Emma heard a pair of heels walking towards them – and she didn’t even have to turn around to know that the heels were accompanied by a sensible pants suit. Regina put a quartet of glasses down on the table and dragged a chair towards her with her foot.

“That’s impressive,” Ruby muttered appreciatively and Regina shot her a smile.

“I figured you three might need to be re-buzzed,” Regina said, nodding towards the drink.

“ _Storybrooke Scotches_?” Mary Margaret asked, reaching towards one of the glasses and taking a sip before Regina even answered.

“Yup,” she said. “Well, except one. That one on the side is Emma’s. Your boyfriend sent you rum.”

Emma felt Mary Margaret’s stare and smile and knew her cheeks were red again. Killian hadn’t known she’d switched to rum when they got to the hall, far too preoccupied with light-stringing to take her drink order.

He just knew.

Or he also thought it was a rum type of night.

There was probably some sort of deep meaning there – or maybe the deep meaning was in Mary Margaret’s seemingly never-ending stare – but Emma was more interested in changing tablecloths and the buzz she was nursing and the empty room at Granny’s that, literally, had her name on it.

“Of course he did,” Emma said, wrapping both her hands around the glass as Regina handed it to her.

Regina nodded to her and picked up the paper Emma had tossed on the table a few minutes before. “What’s this?” she asked, holding _The Mirror_ up to the group and Emma bit back a groan.

“Is that today’s _Mirror_?” Mary Margaret said, pulling the front page out of Regina’s fingers. She stared at it for a few minutes and Emma looked nervously at Regina. Then, Mary Margaret Blanchard-Nolan, slightly buzzed second-try bride started to laugh. Loudly.

“M’s?” Emma asked softly, standing up quickly to put her hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”  
  
“Have you seen this?”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“This is the best thing I have ever seen.”  
  
“Best?”  
  
“Absolutely. Oh God, this is so Storybrooke. It’s everything we wanted to avoid.”  
  
“And that’s a good thing?”

Mary Margaret shook her head and settled into the final empty chair nearby. “Oh, no, it’s an awful thing, but if this is the worst thing that happens all weekend, and it certainly looks like it’ll be the worst thing that happens all weekend, then I think Operation: happily ever after is a stunning success.”

“I don’t know about stunning,” Emma said.

“No, you’re right. A totally-expected success because you figured it all out. And all these people came here to fix tablecloths and, well, it’s nice. So incredibly nice. If all of that is happening then I can deal with a front-page story in _The Mirror._  Although,” she added quickly, staring at Regina for a moment, “the next time I see Cora, I may have to ask her some very specific questions about some of these quotes.”

Emma gaped at Mary Margaret, stunned, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, at how one single person could be the absolute embodiment of sunshine and positivity and the sheer belief that everything was going to be fantastic.

“You’d come up with a better headline, though,” Mary Margaret added, tossing the paper back on the table. “When you buy it, make sure you come up with better headlines.”  
  
“You’re going to buy _The Mirror?_ ” Regina asked, eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

Emma waved her hand – an effective brushoff. “Absolutely not.”  
  
“Someday,” Mary Margaret promised.

“Someday, what?” David asked, appearing, seemingly, out of nowhere. “We’re done with the tablecloths, babe,” he added. “And Killian’s done stringing all those lights. He’s the only one who could keep his balance on the chair.”  
  
“Athlete,” Emma mumbled, taking another sip of her drink. The rum settled into her stomach and her whole body felt like it was blushing.

“You throwing out insults, Swan?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder to find Killian walking towards them, sleeves pushed up his forearms and she ignored the bright colors of the tattoo there. He put his hand on her shoulder and his fingers tightened slightly, thumb moving over the chain around her neck and Emma, quickly, didn’t _care_ about the tattoo on his arm.

She only cared about the key to the hotel room she still had clutched in her hand.

“Just facts,” she said, glancing up. He smirked at her and squeezed his hand again, laughing softly.

“You play the sports you write about too, Killian?” Regina asked. His hand tightened again – but this time it was for a different reason and Emma’s whole body tensed underneath his fingers.

“Used to,” he said quickly.

“Just one sport?”  
  
“Baseball.”  
  
Regina nodded, something that looked like _impressed_ settling onto her face. “You never wanted to do something with that? Like as a career? Instead of writing about it?”  
  
“Regina,” Emma mumbled.  
  
“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian interrupted and his hand moved around the back of her neck. “I did – think about that as a career. I actually did it for awhile.”  
  
“Really? Why’d you stop?”  
  
Killian held up his left hand quickly, twisting it a bit like it was on display and smiled sardonically at Regina. “Made it kind of tough to play.”  
  
Regina’s mouth formed a perfectly shaped ‘o’ and she blinked a few times before opening her mouth, Emma assumed, to apologize. Killian brushed her off. “It’s almost ok, now,” he said. “Bordering close to fine. I like writing a lot and there are some things, I’ve found, that are more important than baseball.”  
  
The entire world was staring at Emma, she was sure of it.  
  
Or at least the half a dozen people in the hall were. Graham and Marco had joined their mini-meeting a few moments before – just in time to hear Killian’s _declaration_ or _whatever_ – and Emma resisted the urge to slide off the chair, lay flat on the floor and squeeze her eyes closed tightly.

Killian’s hand hadn’t left her neck and his thumb was tracing over the chain again, pushing up underneath it. She ignored that too.

“Hey,” Emma said suddenly, “I’ve got a question.”  
  
The eyes that had been staring at her before all widened quickly and Mary Margaret laughed softly next to her. “What’s that?” she asked.  
  
“When did you and David start dating?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Exactly what I said. Ruby and I were talking about it and I honestly had no idea.”  
  
Mary Margaret blinked, twisting her lips in thought and looked over at David. He shrugged. “I don’t really either,” she said, voice tinged with laughter still.

“It’s been awhile,” David added.

“Well you did know you wanted to marry M’s when you were seventeen,” Emma pointed out.  
  
“That late?” Ruby asked. “Please, David wanted to marry her when they were in third grade.”

“At least,” Regina added.

“I think they went on their first official date when they were eleven though,” Graham added, _Storybrooke Scotch_ in his hand. “My dad found them on the docks after dark and brought them back home in the squad car.”  
  
Emma’s whole body shook as she laughed. “Did Mrs. Nolan totally freak out?”  
  
“She absolutely freaked out. Although, to be fair, if I remember correctly, Mr. Blanchard tried to fight my dad in the driveway because he’d dared to suggest that Mary Margaret had done something wrong.”  
  
“He was always a bit overprotective,” Mary Margaret muttered.

“Just a bit,” Emma added, smiling at her friend. “Your royal highness.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
“You remember the first time David actually picked you up for a date?” Regina asked, breaking up the quasi-fight and looking at Mary Margaret with eyebrows raised.

Mary Margaret nodded. “I was sixteen and David had just gotten his learner’s permit. He wasn’t really supposed to be driving, but he didn’t tell his mom the rules and he got the car and came to my house and picked up. We went to Bella Notte.”  
  
Emma bit her lip tightly, absolutely refusing to look back at Killian. “I remember that,” she said. “You must have tried on a dozen dresses before he got to your house.”  
  
“I wanted to look good!”  
  
“It was purple,” David said, earning stares from everyone crowded around the table. “And sparkly. There were sparkles around your waist.”  
  
“That’s right,” Mary Margaret whispered.

David smiled slightly and nodded. “I know it is.”  
  
“I can’t believe you remember that.”  
  
“He brought you forget-me-nots too,” Emma added. Mary Margaret gaped at her.

“That’s also right.”  
  
“I know it is,” Emma repeated and glanced at David, raising her eyebrows quickly and smiling. She flicked his arm, earning a very specific type of face, but Emma just kept smiling.

“Why do you know that?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma shrugged – she met Elsa’s eyes across the table and noticed her sister was staring at her expectantly.

Elsa knew.

She’d always known.

Because Elsa had landed on Ingrid’s doorstep too – positive that no one in the entire world wanted her either and certain that no one would ever love her as much as Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan seemed to love each other.

They’d both been horribly wrong.

“Just filing away embarrassingly romantic moments to bring up before second-round weddings,” Emma said, sarcasm practically seeping out of her pores.

“Yuh huh.”

Emma shrugged again and Mary Margaret looked at her skeptically. “We should probably get out of here,” she said, glancing at the people around the table.

“Is there a plan for tomorrow?” Elsa asked.

“Well, Emma’s dress is at my dad’s house and we’re going to get ready there. My dad wants to do pictures in the middle of town or something and then he wants to, get this, walk to the hall from the house.”  
  
“You can come get ready with us if you want, El,” Emma said.

Her sister shook her head before Emma even finished the sentence. “Nah, that’s ok. We’ve got ice cream to deliver, you know.”  
  
Emma looked guiltily at Ingrid, trying to smile at her, thanking her silently for making six different ice cream flavors. “You want some help with that tomorrow morning?”  
  
“That’s alright,” Ingrid said quickly and Emma got the distinct impression that _everyone_ at that table knew Ruby and Mary Margaret had gotten her a room at Granny’s.

“You’ve got stuff to do,” Elsa said evasively.

“You’ve got stuff to do?” Killian muttered and Emma glared at her sister. Elsa made a face, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Kind of,” Emma said.  
  
“Kind of.”  
  
“You should probably go do it,” Elsa added. Emma was positive if she blushed anymore her entire body would spontaneously combust.

“But..” Emma sputtered.

“Go,” Mary Margaret said seriously. Ruby nodded and David flicked her arm – hard.

Emma stood up, Killian’s hand dropping from her neck quickly and spun on the spot. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and tugged a bit. “C’mon,” she said softly, ignoring her entire family’s collective stare.

Killian’s eyes were clouded with confusion, but he nodded slowly, a smile inching across his face. “You sure you don’t need anymore help?” he asked, looking at Mary Margaret.

She shook her. “Go.”  
  
Emma tugged on his arm again and Killian followed her towards the door to the hall, disappearing from the main room and, most importantly, the rest of her very opinionated family. She came to a stop just in front of the door, hand wrapping around the handle. “You going to tell me what’s going on now, love?” Killian asked. “What exactly do you have to do tomorrow morning?”  
  
“Well,” she said slowly. “It’s more like what I’m doing later on tonight.”  
  
He raised one eyebrow slowly – torturously – and Emma bit her lip tightly, hand gripping the door handle behind her like it was keeping her standing. “That so?” Killian asked, voice dropping low.

Emma nodded and Killian’s eyes dropped to her still closed left hand. She hadn’t stopped clutching the key. “What’s that.” he nodded towards her fingers.

She bit her lip even tighter and held her hand up, unwrapping her fingers until the key was pinched in between her thumb and pointer finger. “A key,” she said.

“I can see that. To what?”  
  
“A room at Granny’s?”  
  
“You have a key to a room in, what, Granny’s house?”  
  
“No, no,” Emma laughed. “Granny’s bed and breakfast. It’s back behind the diner.”  
  
“Who knew this town could boast a bed and breakfast? Practically a metropolis.”  
  
“We don’t have to go.”

Killian widened his eyes dramatically and sighed loudly, reaching forward to grab Emma’s hand off the handle. He twisted his fingers around hers and smiled – the feel of it settling into her stomach the same way the rum had. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t say anything.”  
  
“I was just surprised Storybrooke, Maine had a hotel. Or bed and breakfast. Although I suppose if anyone is going to run something like that, I shouldn’t be surprised that Granny does.”

“We can go back to Ingrid’s,” Emma continued.

“Stop suggesting that, Swan.”

“Ruby and Mary Margaret planned it.”  
  
“I’ll have to thank them.”  
  
“Said we could use some time to ourselves.”  
  
“They’re not wrong.”  
  
“So,” Emma said slowly. “You want to go then? To Granny’s? With me? For like the night?”  
  
“You don’t have to give me an out, love.”  
  
“No?”  
  
Killian didn’t say anything else, just shook his head and took a step into her space. His head tilt was the only warning Emma got before he kissed her, hand wrapping around the back of her head as he walked her up against the door.

Her hands fell to his waist and his left hand trailed up her side, pressing against her with all the pent-up frustration of someone who was nervous about impressing family members and silently terrified of encroaching on his girlfriend's beat on opposing sides of the New York City tabloid wars.

Emma’s head was spinning – not for the first time that night – and she moved her hands up to his shoulders, pushing back slightly so she could try and get some oxygen. Killian barely moved, lips just inches away from hers, but she could see the smile there.

He was beaming at her, eyes still closed lightly and he rocked forward slightly almost as if he was moving without thinking – trying to stay as close to her as possible.

Or maybe Emma was just in an absurdly romantic mood.

“You bring clothes here or are they still all at Ingrid’s?” he asked softly.

“All at Ingrid’s. I was told not to go back there.”  
  
“That so?”

“Yeah.”  
  
“Won’t everyone know what happened when we walk out tomorrow morning in the same clothes we’re wearing now?”  
  
“I think everybody knows already,” Emma pointed out, fingers trailing along the bottom of his hair.

“So much for that good impression.”  
  
“The opposite actually.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma confirmed. “You’re quite a gentleman, you know.”  
  
Killian laughed softly, pressing his forehead against Emma’s. She could feel him take a deep breath. “I’m more concerned with making up for lost time right now.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
“Absolutely,” he said and Emma would have taken a step back at the certainty in his voice – except there was a door in her way. “Contrary to my determination to be some sort of top-tier boyfriend, I enjoy kissing you quite a bit, Swan.”  
  
“Good thing I enjoy kissing you too. Quite a bit.”

He smiled for a moment again before ducking his head and kissing her, like he was trying to prove just how serious he was. Emma was willing to accept that.

“You want to get out of here?” she mumbled, hardly stopping this current track of making out in Storybrooke landmarks, to ask.

“I’d like nothing more than that.”  
  
“Come on,” Emma said, leaning back to twist open the door handle. His hand landed on her waist as he followed her out onto the sidewalk.

* * *

“You alright, love?”

Emma rolled her head to her side, cheek pressing against the pillow as she did her best to raise one eyebrow at him. She still couldn’t do it. And he absolutely laughed at her. Emma made a face, sticking her tongue out between her teeth.

That made Killian laugh more.

“You’re honestly asking me that?” Emma asked, stretching out her legs underneath the sheets. “Right now? Without any clothes on?”  
  
Killian made a face – _he_ did the eyebrow thing – and trailed his hand down one of her outstretched legs. “I appreciate the no clothes part,” he said softly, fingers wrapping tightly around her thigh.

Emma bit her lip tightly and tried not to make some sort of noise that would be embarrassing or possibly cause him to do something else with his eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.

“You didn’t answer mine.”  
  
That was true.

She hadn’t. Because Emma wasn’t entirely certain she had an answer.

The room had done its job – at least for a little while. Every time Killian kissed her or muttered something in her ear, Emma forgot about sources and jobs and anything outside of that very comfortable bed.

She had been fine then.

Now she was a bit nervous all over again.

“Swan,” Killian said softly. His eyebrows back to their appropriate position and his eyes were so blue and so concerned that Emma couldn’t quite believe he was real. “What are you thinking about, love?”  
  
“Everything all at once.”  
  
“Sounds painful.”  
  
“I’d rather not be thinking everything all at once, if we’re being honest.”  
  
“Then don’t.”

“Easier said than done.”  
  
Killian sighed softly, but he was smiling when he turned to look at her, propping his head up on his right hand as his left settled on the dip in her waist. “Wasn’t the whole point of this to not think about everything all at once?”  
  
“I thought the point of all of this was to make sure you stopped worrying about kissing your girlfriend in front of her entire family.”  
  
“Good impressions, Swan.”  
  
“That you made over a year ago.”  
  
He widened his eyes and smirked at Emma, leaning forward, but stopping just short of actually kissing her. Emma groaned.

“Stop thinking,” he muttered. “Or tell me what you’re thinking about.”  
  
“We’ve done that already. We’ve talked about everything so many times I’m not sure I can actually bring myself to come up with different words to talk about it again.”  
  
“True.”

Killian tightened his hand around her waist and pulled Emma closer to him, lips just a few inches away from her again and did something absurd with his eyes. “Then stop thinking, Swan. Just be here.”  
  
She smiled before she could come up with a reason not to the words settling into her heart and her bloodstream and moving through every single centimeter of her body. Emma nodded, cheek brushing against the pillow, and met his gaze.

Killian's hand moved up her side, trailing over her arm and her collarbone – leaving goosebumps in his wake – until his fingers traced along the chain around her neck and moved the ring across her skin slowly.

“You never take it off,” he said softly, staring at the silver circle. “Why?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Why? Seems like a simple question, Swan.”  
  
It wasn’t.

It was the opposite of a simple question. It was, in fact, a fairly difficult question – one Emma didn’t have an answer to when Mary Margaret asked her and one she didn’t have answer to when Killian asked her.

Without any clothes on.

“Emma,” Killian mumbled, eyes not moving away from the ring pinched between his fingers. “Why, love?”  
  
She squeezed her eyes tightly and tugged on her lip. “It’s important.”  
  
It was what she told Mary Margaret.

It was the only answer she had.

Emma opened her eyes quickly and stared at him for a moment. He looked a bit stunned. “It might be the most important thing I have,” Emma added slowly.

Killian’s breath rushed out of him and he moved so quickly, Emma was positive he was a blur of black hair and emotion-filled eyes and a hand that wouldn’t let go of the ring around her neck. He kissed her, lips moving across hers and Emma sighed against him, pulling herself against his chest and twining her legs against Killian’s.

“I’m glad you don’t take it off,” he said, hardly moving while he talked. He was practically kissing her as he spoke.

Emma smiled – not quite sure what to say – and pressed her lips against his again. “I love you,” she whispered after a few more moments.

That was what she should say.

“I love you too,” he answered, fingers brushing over her jaw until they found their way into her hair.

“Would you...would you tell me about him?” Emma asked, ducking her head and avoiding Killian’s gaze for a moment.

“Who?”  
  
“Liam. Would you tell me about Liam?”

Killian’s eyes widened for a moment and Emma was worried he was upset. That would have ruined the moment a bit.

And then he smiled, leaning towards her to kiss her quickly. “He would have liked you, Swan,” he said. “I’m positive.”  
  
He tugged her tighter against him and rolled on his back, pulling Emma on her side so she rested her head on his shoulder. “He probably would have liked you more than he liked me,” Killian laughed.

“That’s not true,” Emma argued. “And you know it.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that. I was kind of an asshole to him when I was a teenager.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
Emma felt his head move as he nodded and his chest shook slightly underneath her when he laughed. “Absolutely,” Killian agreed. “I’ve always been kind of bordering on selfish, bastard territory, Swan and it was easy to fall right into that when you’ve got a dozen Division I baseball programs telling you how fantastic you are all the time. Liam wasn’t about to let that go to my head though. After the twelfth offer came in, I tried to pull a whole bunch of shit on Liam, skipping out on classes and work.

"All I wanted to do was play, but I wasn’t the smartest about it. I skipped class one day to hit and I was so focused on getting in the cage that I forgot Liam still had friends at the Piers. They called him and he came down and dragged me, literally, out of the cage. He threw my bat in the water.”  
  
Emma widened her eyes, mouth dropping open a bit. “He threw your bat in the water?” she repeated. “Wasn’t that awfully expensive?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Killian agreed. “But he was trying to prove a point or something. And he did. After I went and got it back.”  
  
“What?” Emma’s laugh ricocheted off the walls of the tiny hotel room, her smile almost tensing the muscles in her face.

Killian nodded, his own smile matching hers. “Yup. He threw the stupid thing in the Hudson River and then told me if I wanted to hit again, I had to go get it. So I did. I mean, I wanted to hit, so there wasn’t much of a choice.”  
  
“Isn’t that awfully illegal?”  
  
“Awfully. Not to mention a bit recklessly dangerous. I nearly killed myself trying to climb down the side of Manhattan.”  
  
“Drama queen,” Emma muttered and Killian laughed, brushing his lips over her forehead in response.

“He threw my bat in the Hudson River, Swan. I was seventeen. I think I was allowed to be a little bit dramatic about it.”  
  
“True. Did you learn your lesson?”  
  
“I didn’t miss another day of school. And they let me hit at the Piers for free for the rest of the year.”  
  
Emma shook her head. “That was the kind of person Liam was though,” Killian continued. “I don’t know how he put up with me, honestly. But he’s the one who got me playing baseball, so maybe it was all his fault to begin with.  He put a glove on my hand when I was five years old and said I had to learn how to catch so that he’d have someone to play with. He was thirteen then and incredibly demanding. But I did it and I was good at it. Better than him.”  
  
Killian laughed softly and licked his lips quickly, taking a deep breath through his nose. Emma smiled at him, fingers ghosting over the back of his neck. His shoulders sagged as soon as she touched him and Emma tried not to read too far into that.

“Liam stopped playing in high school. I was eight and then he went to school a couple years later and he didn’t really have time for anything, but he brought me to the Piers once a week. No matter what. Sat there doing his homework and watched me  hit and told me to keep my wrists straight.”  
  
“That’s why you tell Henry that,” Emma cut in, stomach flipping at the realization.

Killian nodded slowly. “It’s basically ingrained in my brain at this point.” He stopped talking for a moment, eyes falling away from Emma’s and landing on the ring again. He took another deep breath and smiled sadly, flexing his hand quickly.

“You know we were playing when we found out mom died,” he muttered.

Emma’s entire body froze. She pulled herself down slightly so Killian had no choice but to look at her. She wrapped her fingers around his hand – bunched into a fist now – and she could hear herself breathing.

“We’d spent most of the last couple of weeks at the hospital and I mean, I was twelve, but I knew it was bad. And Liam knew even more. We’d been sitting there in the room and, suddenly, he jumped out of his chair and practically dragged me out the hallway. Told me we were going to shag fly balls on the tiny patch of grass around the corner.”  
  
“He brought a ball with you?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Journalist.

Killian laughed and his smile actually reached his eyes this time. “I almost always had a baseball with me at that point. Especially when Liam was around. In case he had a couple of minutes to throw. My glove basically lived in my backpack too. I was nothing if not constantly prepared, Swan.”  
  
“Boy scout.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and finally stopped clenching his hand, fingers twining with Emma’s. “The doctor came and got us twenty minute later. She was gone. I think Liam did it on purpose. Got me out of there because he knew what was coming and was trying to protect me or something. He’d never admit to it, but I always kind of knew.”

“That seems like a fairly safe assumption,” Emma said softly, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “I think I would have liked him too.”  
  
Killian closed his eyes lightly, nodding slowly. “He did everything after that, after my mom died. Left school and fought to keep me and somehow found a way to keep me going to the cages – even when I was an asshole about it.”

“I’m sure he never thought you were an asshole.”  
  
“No, you’re right Swan,” Killian agreed. “He just kind of set some fairly high expectations.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Liam did everything,” he repeated. “Worked and made sure I got into school. It wasn’t just baseball. He wasn’t just my brother, you know what I mean? He was my dad and my best friend and the biggest supporter I had. And I think I’ve spent the better part of the last decade of my life trying to prove to myself that he didn’t do all of that for nothing. He didn’t die for nothing. Or, something like that.”  
  
Emma stared at him, eyes narrowing with an influx of emotion she probably should have expected.

Killian Jones was scared of not being good enough.

Constantly.

He had been disappointed and let down and, eventually, come to some sort of conclusion that he didn’t deserve _anything._  Because he’d missed all of it – never got an explanation for any of it, for his mom or Liam or his dad or even Milah. They’d all just left, gone without a chance for him to actually say goodbye.

And somewhere deep in the corners of just exactly who Killian Jones was, he was still terrified that this latest round of happiness he’d wandered into would leave without saying goodbye – again.

That’s why he’d asked how she was before.

That’s why he always asked.

He was looking for confirmation.

And while Emma was more than willing to provide that confirmation – several times over if necessary – she knew he’d never believe any of it until he believed in himself.

Until he forgave himself for being angry and a selfish bastard and finding he could be happy anyway – despite all of it.

“He would have been so proud of you,” Emma said softly, refusing to blink. She needed him to understand this. She needed him to believe that.

“You don’t know that.”  
  
“I do. They all would have.”  
  
His whole body jerked slightly and Killian’s eyes – ridiculously blue and just a bit wide – snapped towards Emma. “They want me to cover the Knicks when we get home. Column stuff.”  
  
“Do you want to?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Emma pressed her lips together tightly, pushing back any sort of opinion she’d formed on the situation over the last few weeks – and she had a few of them – but Killian wasn’t done yet. “Although,” he added. “I’ve been thinking I might? If...well, it is my job.”  
  
“You're good at your job.”

He nodded quickly and sighed loudly, fingers tapping against Emma’s shoulders. “Depends on the hour,” he laughed. “Sometimes I think it’s a good idea and sometimes I don’t. But there's some good stories there and maybe something with the equipment staff that I've been thinking about for a couple of weeks.”  
  
“What about the equipment staff?”  
  
Killian flashed her a grin, like he knew she was trying to get an angle and she really, almost, wasn't. She was interested. Genuinely. ”Specialization for each player and the hours and how they might be the hardest working people in the league. August had some theories about that. Said that was, without a doubt, definitely him. He sits at his fucking desk for seven hours a day."  
  
“Asshole,” Emma muttered before she could stop herself, forehead falling forward to rest on his chest.

“That’s one of the reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea. He wants a story.”  
  
“Of course he does.” That seemed to catch Killian by surprise. “We're back to square one here. You're good at your job. You're good at writing. You could write a good story here. Why aren't you?”  
  
“Because it's your beat,” Killian said rolling his eyes. “And I'm not trying to step on your toes. Even if your byline isn't in my section.”  
  
“That's vaguely romantic, but also vaguely stupid.”  
  
Killian pulled himself up, leaning against the back of the headrest. Emma moved with him, sitting up and leaning against his side. His arm fell across her shoulders and he kissed the top of her head quickly. “A rather pointed opinion,” he mumbled. “It's a good story.”  
  
“I know it is.”  
  
“I've already got notes.”

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

"They'd probably put it on the front of the section on a Sunday."  
  
Emma laughed softly, hand wrapped around his middle. “When El showed up,” she said suddenly, earning a wide-eyed stare for her sudden change in topic. “I thought she was going to ruin everything. I thought she was going to change it all. That she’d steal Ingrid or something ridiculous like that. And about a week after she got to Storybrooke, Ingrid threw a party at the store, made all kinds of ice cream and everyone came.

"I was doing my best to be as bitter about it as possible and El looked a bit terrified by all of it – she’d come from a really horrible family before, even worse than what I’d been through in Boston. But Ingrid insisted we do something to _welcome_ her to town and I fought her on it, loudly. For several days.”  
  
“I don’t think that would have changed Ingrid’s mind,” Killian said, glancing down at Emma with a smile on his face.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “So that Sunday afternoon, we had the party and everyone showed up and I was positive they were all going to forget about me. But they didn’t. Ingrid made me rocky road and chocolate – a whole pint just for me – and M’s and David spent the entire afternoon with me. We ate an obscene amount of ice cream and sat at the counter and, after a few hours, Elsa started talking to us.

"And she was awesome, of course. She was El after that. Nothing changed. It got better. I got a sister and I realized, suddenly, that just because things happen it doesn’t mean that they’re going to be horrible by default.”  
  
“That’s awfully positive for you, love,” Killian pointed out. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d believe.”  
  
Emma shrugged. “It isn’t always.”  
  
“So when is it? Something you believe?”  
  
“When it proves my point.”  
  
“Are you making a point?”  
  
“Obviously,” Emma sighed. “This is your point, in fact. I’m just repeating what you told me before.”

Killian pulled his head back, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“In Boston. You told me that change wasn’t always bad. And that I wouldn’t be alone again. So listen to me listening to you in this situation. When El showed up, I thought she was going to ruin everything, to steal my family from me and make sure I was alone again. She didn’t. She became part of my family. And everyone who was there before stayed. M’s and David have never walked away from me.”  
  
“This is a very convoluted point you’re making, Swan,” he laughed.

“It wouldn’t be if you stopped interrupting me.”

“Go on.”  
  
“What I’m trying to say is, write the story. Get fantastic quotes and one-of-a-kind insight and win sixteen awards for it. And I'll see you in the locker room and during post and we'll both keep writing and then, probably, go home and you know...make out on the couch or something," Emma said, fumbling over the words. "I mean, ok, so, this is different. And we're not sharing a section anymore, but we're sharing some other stuff and it changed and it got...better?"

It was a kind of convoluted point.

It had made a lot more sense in her head.

Eventually she’d be better at this whole emotions thing.

“It probably won’t always be quite this easy,” she continued. “But it also might not ruin everything if you actually do the job they hired you for. It might even be ok.”  
  
“You think?” he asked, voice low and face flushed with every single emotion Emma had been stumbling over before.

She hadn’t actually said the words.

She hadn’t actually proved her point.

And she didn’t have to – the look on his face was reason enough to believe that. But she wanted to.

More than anything.

Huh.

“I do,” Emma agreed. “No one is leaving. I’m not leaving. No matter what. Write the story. Print it. I'll wake up early and go get a dozen copies."  
  
Killian stared at her for a few moments, hands moving so he held her up like he was surprised to find her there – in bed without any clothes on – and Emma did her best not to blush. She’d done more than enough of that for one night.

His mouth hung open and he shook his head, blinking several times.

And then he kissed her, surging up towards her lips and moving so forcefully that Emma nearly fell back against the mattress.

Killian’s hands hadn’t moved, still gripping her shoulders tightly and he made sure she didn’t fall. He pushed her down instead, hovering above her slightly with that same, surprised, vaguely overwhelmed look on his face.

“You are incredible, you know that,” he said softly, shaking his head again.

Emma shrugged. “Did that prove my point?”  
  
“I think so.”

And then he kissed her again – for several minutes – and Emma was breathless and had nearly forgotten her point.

She wasn’t sure how long it took before either one of them could actually form coherent sentences again – _God,_ she really was going to have to thank Ruby and Mary Margaret for this stupid room – but Killian’s chest was practically heaving when he finally fell back to his own side of the bed and Emma was certain her hair was tangled by his hands.

She’d let the hairdresser deal with that the next morning.

Or possibly this morning.

She had no idea what time it was.

It absolutely didn’t matter.

“I love you a lot, you know,” Killian muttered, staring at the ceiling. “ No matter what.”  
  
“Not more than anything?”

He rolled his head to the side to smirk at her, expression inching across his face and settling into the space between Emma’s ribs. “That too,” he said.  
  
“Good.”

“It’s been a kind of an interesting last couple of months,” Emma mumbled, making a face.

Killian laughed softly. “That’s one way of putting it.”  
  
“We should probably stop doing this nonsense during Christmas.”  
  
“True,” he agreed. “I promise, next Christmas, we’ll be completely drama-free, Swan.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“I’ll probably hold you to that. Although that’s kind of far away.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
Emma turned on her side, resting her head on her hand the same way Killian had earlier. “And you’re good with that kind of promise?” she asked.

“You’re the one who was making all kinds of convoluted points before, love,” he answered, voice tinged with laughter. “I think promising to be drama-free next Christmas is even easier to ensure. And several Christmases after that, if you’re interested.”  
  
Emma tilted her head, lips ticking up slightly. “I could be interested in that,” she said softly.

She shut her eyes quickly, images of that white dress and the ceremony on the beach and everything she wanted so badly her whole body felt on edge, fleeting through her mind. Maybe eventually they’d talk about that.

If they ever got through this weekend.

They could do it.

They could do all of it.

Emma’s stomach churned at the thought – the _belief_ – that, between, the two of them they could do just about anything.

Because no one had ever believed quite as much as Killian did.

And, now, Emma was going to return the favor.

“I know I’m interested in that,” he said softly.

Emma smiled widely at him, heart thumping wildly in her chest, when a thought hit her suddenly. “Where are you supposed to get ready tomorrow?”

“Today,” he corrected, nodding towards the LED alarm clock behind her. It was 2:30 in the morning. Maybe Mary Margaret and Ruby shouldn’t have gotten them this room.

Or let them have deep, emotional conversations in the middle of the night.

“Where are you supposed to get ready today?” Emma corrected, making a face at his particulars.

“David’s, or rather, David’s mother’s house. But not until after twelve. There’s not a lot of prep in putting on a tuxedo.”  
  
“There are tuxedos involved?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Didn’t you re-plan this wedding, Swan? Shouldn’t you know exactly who’s wearing what?”  
  
“That was, literally, David’s only job aside from his quarter of the list. He was in charge of figuring out what you guys were supposed to wear.”  
  
“Well, he did,” Killian promised. “And I brought the tux with me. It’s, so I’ve been told, already in David’s childhood bedroom.”

“Try not to woo Mrs. Nolan too much when you walk out in that tuxedo.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Swan.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“You think she’s ever forgiven him for stealing the car and going to pick up Mary Margaret?” Killian asked.  
  
“Maybe if you woo her tomorrow afternoon, she’ll forget all about it.”  
  
“You’re hysterical.”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“Of course,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly despite the smile on his face. “Did you know he wasn’t supposed to drive then?”  
  
“Who do you think covered for him when he didn’t get the car home exactly at nine o’clock?”

“Of course,” he repeated. “You’re a ridiculously good friend, you know that?”  
  
“Eh,” Emma brushed him off. “I don’t know. They’re the ones who followed me to New York and let me third wheel on them for the majority of our lives.”  
  
“Eventually you’re going to have to realize that’s not how they see it.”

“Oh, no, I know it’s not. But when I was a kid, it was all a bit overwhelming, you know what I mean?”

Killian nodded quickly. “When we were growing up, Liam, he had this girlfriend and, well, it was serious. But then he went to school and my mom got sick and he spent about a year in court trying to prove he could be some kind of competent guardian. And the girlfriend wasn’t around as much.”  
  
“Did she ever come back?”  
  
“Sometimes. She came to my mom’s funeral and I know she and Liam stayed in touch, but once I went to Louisville and he went into the Navy, I don’t know what happened to her.”  
  
Emma waited for him to continue – a bit confused where this point was going – and knew he could read _exactly_ what she was thinking. He even smiled at her slightly blank stare, leaning up to brush his lips against hers quickly.

“The point I’m trying to make, Swan,” he said slowly, “is that these kinds of stories, David and Mary Margaret and their slightly overwhelming relationship, don’t happen every day. It doesn’t always work out the way it’s supposed to. Life gets in the way and the girl disappears. So, what I’m saying is, that if they’ve been with you this entire time, they don’t see you as a third wheel. You’re just as much a part of the story as they are.”  
  
Emma felt her shoulders dropping and she knew her face betrayed every single emotion that was coursing through her – stupid open book – as she tried to blink quickly to make sure she didn’t do something stupid like cry.

They were a mess.

A disaster of low expectations and disappointments and people leaving and, in any other situation, Emma Swan and Killian Jones probably shouldn’t work.

But they did.

They worked perfectly.

“So are you,” Emma said, nodding towards him. “You’re part of the story now too.”  
  
“As long as you’re there, I don’t care what story it is.”  
  
“That’s a good line.”  
  
“And a serious one.”

“How is it every time we’re in Storybrooke we seem to have these vaguely ridiculous, emotionally conversations?” Emma asked, laughing softly.

“I think you’re more comfortable here,” Killian said, answering her easily. “Being vulnerable isn’t really your strong suit, love, but you kind of let your guard down a little bit when you’re here. I’m just here to seize the opportunity.”  
  
Emma laughed again, dropping back onto the pillow in dramatic fashion. “I guess my armor's been on for such a long time that sometimes I forget that I don't need it with you,” she said softly. “And maybe I’m a little bit scared.”  
  
“Of?”  
  
“Wanting.”  
  
“You’re not the only one who wants things, love.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“Decidedly not.”

“Life won’t get in the way?” Emma asked, repeating the words Killian had just told her. He smiled at her and shook his head quickly.

“No,” he said easily. “It hasn’t yet. I can’t imagine a situation where it would, honestly. You’re the story, Swan. You know that, right?”  
  
“I didn’t before. But I might be starting to.”  
  
“That’s the goal.”  
  
“I’m not going to take it off,” Emma said, changing the subject again. She was surprised they didn’t have conversational whiplash.

“What’s that, love?”  
  
“The ring,” she answered quickly, hand ghosting over it. “I’m not going to take it off.”  
  
He put his hand over hers, squeezing his fingers tightly around it and smiled – so wide and so _sincere,_  that Emma was certain he had actually lit up a corner of the room. “That’s the goal,” he repeated softly, head ducking down to trail a line of kisses across her jaw.

“You should get some sleep, Swan, you’ve got to get ready earlier than I do tomorrow,” Killian said after a few prolonged moments of kissing and goosebumps forming on her forearm.

“Deja vu,” Emma mumbled, ignoring his laughter when he noticed the goosebumps.

“Yeah, but this time we were much more efficient.”  
  
“Romantic.”  
  
“I think we’ve accomplished that too.”

“True.”  
  
“You’re not the only one who wants things, Swan,” he said again, voice dropping low and doing something very specific to Emma’s ability to fall asleep at a slightly responsible time. “You don’t have to worry about that.”  
  
“What do you want?” Emma whispered, stomach flipping at the question.

A year ago, she never would have asked. She would have wondered and pondered and worried. But she never would have asked.

Because there would have been emotions involved.

And Emma Swan didn’t do emotions.

She still didn’t – at least not very well – but somewhere along the line, Emma had also gotten a bit more confident and a little more certain and she wanted to hear it.

Killian took a deep breath and kept his hand trained over the ring around her neck. “I want you to read every story I write. From here on out.”  
  
Emma nodded, smile creeping across her face as quickly as her pulse seemed to thump in her veins. “I’d like that,” she said, meaning every single letter.

He kissed her again, pulling her back against his chest and wrapped his arm tightly around his waist. “Get some sleep, Swan,” he said into her hair.

She pressed her face against the pillow, eyes drooping far quicker than she expected and fell asleep in a few moments – promises of future Christmases and wants and overwhelming romances lingering in her mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for my friend @distant-rose who is the absolute best and wanted a bit of fluff. I'm me, so there's some emotion and a hint of angst, but it's...mostly fluff. Someday I'll write a full You Play Ball Like a Girl sequel, but for now here were several thousand words of Storybrooke feelings.


End file.
